Some People Grow
by Dan Sickles
Summary: Snoop Dogg's coming to dinner - and Andy's taking the heat! No slash, but a lot of drama, and some surprising revelations.


SOME PEOPLE GROW

_I do not own these fabulous characters. But I love this movie, and I respect Mr. Snoop Dogg. Please comment nicely!_

"First of all, we need to move Snoop Dogg to my table," Miranda instructed, in her quietly imperious manner.

"Snoop . . . Dogg?" Andy Sachs repeated. "The rapper?"

"How wonderful, I'm stuck in Paris with a deaf-mute," Miranda jabbed delicately. "Having a superstar at my table will make it harder for people to notice that my husband is not present. Because he just dumped me." The older woman quivered slightly, her self-control not quite as icy as always.

Andy winced. "I understand that, Miranda. And I'm so sorry. But Snoop Dogg is a thug who spouts obscenity for a living. He sings about bitches and hoes and uses really graphic language to describe what he does to women."

"How exciting," Miranda replied acidly. "Can you get him on the phone? Is this basic task too difficult for you? Am I reaching for the stars here? Oh, and you'll be sitting next to him, so make sure to move Patty Sullivan next to me."

"Yes, Miranda." Andy felt a pang at the name Patty Sullivan too. But this time she was smart enough to keep her mouth shut. Patty was a political columnist for the Washington Post. She rubbed elbows with Senators and got exclusives with the president. She was the kind of journalist Andy had wanted to be at Northwestern, before she took the job at Runway and met Miranda and discovered how much she loved the glamour and excitement of the fashion world.

If she could have made a wish, Andy would have had the night turn out like a Three Stooges movie. When they were all seated she half-hoped that Snoop Dogg would commit some outrageous solecism, like using the wrong fork or sticking his necktie in the soup. But his behavior was quiet, dignified. His manners were excellent. He wore Valentino.

It was Patty Sullivan who got on Andy's nerves. Much to her surprise, the eminent political journalist turned out to be a jerk. She was Miranda's age, but she dressed much younger, wearing a big gold crucifix but showing an awful lot of scrawny pink flesh in a gaudy lime-green Ungaro creation that clashed violently with her bright orange hair. And she was a shameless name-dropper, bragging about how many fashion people followed her column and sent her clothes and shoes, broadly hinting that Miranda should do the same. No runway model could have been more blatant in her panhandling, Andy thought with disgust.

The trouble started when Miranda and her friend Nigel were trashing some of the outfits they'd seen that day. One of them mentioned a very silly dress that was mostly chains, harmless stuff that was part of everyone's bondage fantasy.

"Oh, that's just pimp-wear, like what they wear down in the ghetto," Patty Sullivan said loudly, sloshing around her wine glass and actually slopping on Miranda. Her glassy green eyes fixed on Snoop Dogg, and a strange cold smile flitted across her face. "No offense meant to anyone here."

"All of us have been known to peddle flesh from time to time," kindly bald Nigel said, smoothing things over. Everyone laughed, but then a few minutes later Patty Sullivan somehow brought things around to the ghetto again.

"Maybe we should let the nuns carry guns, just like the cops," Patty joked, referring to the recent case of a pair of nuns being beaten and raped right outside their inner-city school. "Of course you can't blame the boys who did it, can you? Not with all that hip-hop music on the radio. That's what stirs them up. Isn't that right, Snoop Dogg?"

"Some people are born stirred up," the rapper replied calmly. "Me, I'm just trying to make a living, the same as every other person here. Some people don't like modern music. Some don't like modern fashions. My music is about my world. If you don't know, you won't know."

"Calling what you do music is pushing it, don't you think?" Patty Sullivan asked, with a brittle smile. When Snoop didn't answer, she sipped her drink, looking prim and satisfied.

Andy was amazed at how patiently Snoop Dogg endured the Sullivan woman's nasty, half-drunken jibes. She had never seen so much self-control, especially from a man with such a violent reputation. She didn't like his music or what he stood for, but it made her angry to see anyone humiliated. That was because she understood how it felt.

"The Beatles were considered shocking once," she squeaked, in a breathless, little-girl voice. Andy knew she was making a big mistake. Snoop Dogg didn't need her help. And she was never very good at arguing with older people. One minute she was ready to quote the Constitution and hum a dozen Beatles songs. Then Miranda looked her way and instantly her mind went blank. "The Beatles sang about all kinds of weird stuff," she finished lamely. "And then Charlie Manson killed all those people and blamed it on the White Album."

"Oh look, we have a music critic at our table," Miranda said softly. "Where's my assistant Andrea? Oh yes, I remember. I fired her for talking too much."

Patty Sullivan flashed a surprisingly good-natured grin. "Aw, lay off the poor girl, Miranda. These kids don't know anything about history. They never had to fight for a shot at equality. The Sixties was a thousand years ago for most of them."

"I was born in 1982," Andy muttered, in a sulky tone. She was smart enough not to say anything else. But deep inside she was furious. The big-time reporter was a moocher, a kiss-ass, and an obnoxious bigot, but _she_ was the one people treated like a child. Andy's dark eyes focused on the gold cross around the older woman's neck.

_Dat's right, Miz Sullivan, us po' clackers don't know nothin' about no history. So how many black gangstas ever burned down a synagogue in the name of the cross? Just yesterday the Irish were the gangstas decent people feared. With all the skeletons in your closet, history is the last thing you ought to invoke . . ._

Andy didn't say a word of this. She didn't have the nerve. But she was getting more and more upset. Just then she felt something under the table. Snoop Dogg had taken her hand in a tight grip. He squeezed once, then let go.

_He knows what this is like. How does he put up with it?_ As the evening wore on, Andy had plenty of time to observe the tall, striking brown-skinned man seated beside her. Her grandfather used to joke that all blacks looked alike, but that was definitely not true in this case. Snoop Dogg had such distinctive features, with high cheekbones and slanted black eyes that gave him an exotic, almost Oriental beauty. Andy knew he was a deadly killer, and not just with words on a record. The man could defend himself. Yet he chose not to.

The last straw came when Miranda brought up books. Andy thought it was a safe subject. Snoop Dogg had an autobiography out, after all. He had even written a novel of his own called Love Don't Live Here No More. But Patty Sullivan wanted to talk about Jane Austen.

"All I ever wanted was to live in the world of Pride and Prejudice," she slobbered, too drunk to even speak clearly. Andy didn't understand why Miranda let the woman get away with this nonsense. She had no pull in the fashion world, after all. "Just want to live someplace where everyone is well-born and aristocratic. No lying crooks, no dirty cops. Wouldn't you like to live in a world like that?" she asked, giving Snoop Dogg that strange smile again. "How many cops you shoot in your time, sunny Jim?" Patty hiccupped and then belched loudly. "Raping nuns, acting like animals, listening to filth. Jane Austen understood how civilized people behave."

"Jane Austen wrote about the world she lived in," Andy said quietly. She was shaking with anger, and she was also shaking with fear. Miranda was watching her. She chose each word with care. "Jane loved the world she knew, but she knew it wasn't a perfect world. She condemned cruelty in the rich as well as the poor, in women as well as in men. She didn't pretend that privilege alone could ever produce courage, wisdom and kindness. She was never a common snob, or a common bigot."

"In other words, Patty, shut the fuck up. Your father was a good cop. But he died a long time ago." Everyone gasped. Miranda was always so cold and proper that even the mildest profanity had the impact of a slap in the face.

"I'm sorry, Miranda," the wretched woman whispered. All the fight had gone out of her. "I'm sorry, everyone." Patty Sullivan was a cliché, Andy realized. She was the classic alcoholic, the kind who insulted everyone and apologized sincerely and then had no memory of anything the next day.

Snoop Dogg accepted the apology with a cold, polite nod. But his eyes were warm as he gave Andy a lazy smile. "Baby girl, you should be a teacher. I learned more from you in thirty seconds than I learned at Long Beach Polytechnic in four years. You sure you weren't Jane Austen in a previous life?"

"Andrea was a size six in a previous life," Nigel solemnly intoned. The tension eased as the whole table erupted in laughter. Yet as always, Miranda had the last word.

"Some people grow. Others shrink," she said.

Later, on the private jet back to New York, Andy had time to reflect on the meaning of Miranda's words. She had grown a lot at Runway. Maybe she would move on, someday. But whatever happened, she would never forget to grow.

_A/N: So much of the most exquisite fiction on this site is about the romantic bond between Andy and Miranda. I just wanted to explore some other issues in a way that would show the deeper feelings between them. _


End file.
